


the healing touch of a close friend

by houseofbees



Category: Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon 2012)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, can be read as platonic or romantic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24928219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofbees/pseuds/houseofbees
Summary: The reality of being friends with a superhero never really hits you until you have to help them take care of a bullet wound.
Relationships: Harry Osborn & Peter Parker, Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104





	the healing touch of a close friend

Harry's always known Peter's patrols aren't exactly the safest thing in the world. Fighting supervillains, webbing up criminals, all while keeping your sanity in check every day, that definitely had to take some kind of toll on you.

He's just never seen what happens when a patrol goes wrong.

That was, until Peter knocked on his window in the middle of the night, dripping wet, in a tattered costume, and clutching the darkened bandages wrapped around his side.

Harry stirred awake, blinking through the blur in his vision and staring into the dark room—the moon's light illuminating the room, but the haziness in his mind dampening his every thought.

He swallowed the stale dryness in his throat as he yawned and arched into a stretch, a chorus of pops echoing through the room.

The warm blankets wrapped around his body ensnared him in a trap of comfort and lies. A chill ran through the non-blanketed part of the room, and Harry licked his lips. God, he didn't want to get up.

Peter knocked again—a series of raps much weaker than his first.

The window slid open not more than five seconds later.

As soon as the glass barrier fell back, Peter stumbled in—promptly stumbling to his knees and ripping off whatever was left of his mask. Shallow breaths wracked his chest, his body trembling like a cold kitten.

Harry sucked in a breath—and, god, it smelled like boiled garbage in here—and dropped to his side. This close, Peter's shallows breath sounded more like choked sobs, and his trembling became tremors like those of an earthquake. And the darkened stain on the bandages wrapped around his side became...

Blood. The bandages were absolutely, positively, _terrifyingly_ soaked with blood.

"Peter?" Harry asked, whatever remaining dryness in his throat dissipating in order to make room for the newfound lump.

"Oh, hey." Peter wiped his nose, staining his skin with a dark trail. "What's up?"

Harry blinked. Peter coughed, filling the silence, however he quickly doubled over as one cough became two, three, thirteen.

A question bubbled in Harry's mind; one he should have asked the moment Peter nearly collapsed on his floor.

"Peter... what _happened?_ "

As it turns out, bullet wounds are more common in New York than you'd think. Especially for superheroes. Especially for Peter.

And what better way to discover this than your best friend coming to you bleeding out, halfway dead, in the middle of the night, instead of going to... oh, an actual doctor?

"I'm sorry," Peter said, lounging on his couch like they were watching a movie instead of dragging him from the brink of death. "I really am."

Harry swallowed back the lump in his throat which had been building up and plaguing his existence for hours now, and glared at the alcohol-soaked rag in his hands.

"Yeah." Harry pressed the rag to Peter's side, earning a hiss in response. "You should be."

"Ouch," Peter grinned, "but okay."

"What's 'ouch' is that you came to me instead of a doctor."

"Sure." Peter shuffled. "But I had to see your voice." He furrowed his brows. "No... hear your voice. See your face."

Harry wiped away the last traces of dried blood and haphazardly threw the rag over his shoulder. A wet slap followed, and thank god the stupid thing didn't land on the carpet.

"You're delusional," he sniped.

Peter licked his lips. "Yeah, I can see that. And I don't need a doctor."

"That is a bold-faced lie, Parker."

"No, really." Peter straightened up, crossing his arms. "What if a doctor decides to do a blood test or something, and they find out my blood is radioactive? Guess what?"

"You'll be hauled off to a government facility to be tested on." Harry added quietly, "Despite the fact you have the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D. on your side."

"Precisely!" Peter huffed, crossing his arms and rolling back his shoulders. Though his pride quickly sagged, his body curling into more of a slouch you'd expect from a dead rat.

"I just..." Peter ran his hands through his hair, eyes roaming everywhere but Harry. "I just wanted to see you, you know? Sure, S.H.I.E.L.D. is better qualified bt you... you're my best friend."

Harry stared at the lights reflecting off the couch, brows furrowing. He gritted his teeth, sucking in a trembling breath, and clenching his fists.

"And you decided that your best friend was a better candidate than a doctor to watch you die."

Silence.

"I'm not dying though—"

"You—" Harry grabbed Peter's hands— "came to me—" blinked away his tears— "with a fucking _bullet in your side_ —" stared into his eyes— "and you thought I'd be able to handle it? At all?"

Peter visibly swallowed, sinking into the couch.

Harry forced back the tightness in his throat and the stinging behind his eyes.

"I love you, Pete." His hands trailed back to the roll of gauze on the table. "I can't stand to see anything happen to you."

They spent the rest of the night in silence.

Peter avoided his gaze, apparently more interested in the ceiling than him, and only replied to questions with a wave or a grunt.

Harry didn't press. The last thing he needed—either of them needed—was an argument. What Peter needed right now was care, and Harry couldn't deny that to him.

And, in all honesty, he didn't know what he was expecting when this ended. A joke or a quip as Peter swung out the window. More silence, maybe. Probably. Peter sleeping on the couch, or Harry relenting his bed and sleeping there instead.

What he certainly didn't expect, though, was for Peter to grab his sleeve, pull him into a hug, and whisper with a shake in his voice, "Can I stay here? Overnight?" And, quieter, "Please?"

And... Harry's never been good at saying no to him.

That's how they ended up, together in Harry's bed, wrapped around each other.

Peter still smelled like boiled garbage and had a still-unexplained dampness to him, still wore his suit. Harry would have to take care of all that in the morning. Get Pete to take a shower, and scrub the sheets clean of whatever germs Peter had brought in.

But right now Harry couldn't find it in himself to care.

Maybe it was because he was already dead tired, maybe because Peter's solid and firm arms at some point had wrapped tightly around him, maybe because of something else.

Either way, Harry found himself drifting to sleep, peacefully, in Peter's presence.

And maybe it was because Harry had needed to see Peter tonight, too.


End file.
